


like lute-wood, and the fireplace

by leaveanote



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Apologies, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love Confessions, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Romance, Sex, Trust and Healing, a bit at least, fuck they're in love, so many feeings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27514894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaveanote/pseuds/leaveanote
Summary: Geralt hadn't realized having Jaskier at Kaer Morhen would feel so...right.***Geralt takes a deep breath. Before he can stop himself, he finds himself at Jaskier’s open door. He steps inside and closes it.“Geralt!” Jaskier looks up from the lute in his arms. His face crinkles into that familiar warm grin. It had been hesitant, when he’d first gotten to Kaer Morhen. It’s sure again, now. “To what do I owe this late-night visit? Is there a quest that needs doing in the morning? A rescue, a hunt? Something exciting I can tag along and weave a tale of—Geralt?”“I love you.”Jaskier drops his lute.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 937





	like lute-wood, and the fireplace

**Author's Note:**

> guess I am not done with first-time fics! I just needed to write some romance. and for that ridiculously pretty bard to get very tenderly taken care of, and taken apart.

Geralt hadn’t thought it would feel this... _ right _ .

He thought it’d take some getting used to. Steeled himself for it, really. Put off going to find Jaskier, asking him to come help with Ciri’s training (all that emotional shit he’s admittedly good at) and bringing him back to Kaer Morhen. Because even with things smoothed over with Yen at the moment—she drops in to help with Ciri on occasion, but the actual spark between them has cooled into somewhat amicable, cautious friendship—he didn’t think Jaskier would actually come. Geralt had apologized best he could, which wasn’t saying much, but the bard hadn’t needed a lot of convincing. And Geralt had been sure it would be  _ very  _ strange, bringing Jaskier to the place he’d spent so much of his life.

But it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Jaskier...fits. Here in Kaer Morhen. Here, making Ciri laugh, listening to her earnestly when she grieves and speaks of home. Here, flinging good-natured insults and jabs back at Geralt’s brothers easily, preening in their attention. They  _ love  _ him, of course, much to Geralt’s annoyance. Can’t thank him enough for making the world a safer, kinder place for them, which made Jaskier’s entire face light up like the fucking sun. 

Here, making himself at home in Geralt’s room. He’d been  _ thrilled  _ to see it, touching fucking everything and waxing poetic about the view, and Geralt can’t believe how right it feels, to see Jaskier flitting about his home like he was made for it.

Here. Not going anywhere. Not leaving to find another place to sing, or getting run off by one of Geralt’s moods. Here, every morning and every night, in the room down the hallway from Geralt’s, which he fills with candles and sweet-smelling herbs, and new music.

Geralt watches him now, from across the kitchen. It doubles as a dining room and lounge-area. When there isn’t a child or a bard around, they usually just eat and drink until they stumble sleepily to their quarters, but these nights, the fires burn late, and the room fills with the comfortable warmth of peace. 

Jaskier’s prancing, because of course he is. He keeps his fine clothes in his room most days now, favoring basic fabric trousers and a rough-shorn white undershirt, though he occasionally accessorizes. Not tonight though, tonight it’s just...him. These clothes do nothing to diminish his charm, especially as he wears them with such ease—Geralt, to his annoyance, is starting to think they have the opposite effect, serving to highlight the bard’s natural loveliness. Especially now when he’s fresh from a hot bath, his complexion radiant in the firelight.

He plucks some silly tune on his lute, one that makes his voice trill and Ciri giggle, and Geralt’s brothers cheer from where they’re draped over chairs with mugs of ale. Those clever, deft fingers fly over the strings, coaxing melody through the evening. Jaskier hits a particular cheeky lyric and flashes a wink in Geralt’s direction. 

Geralt feels a familiar hunger roaring in his gut. He’s so accustomed to ignoring it, forcing it down, but this time, here in the firelight and the relative safety of the castle, he doesn’t. He lets it wash over him.

Want.

Not just the bodily sort, though certainly that. Something protective, possessive, but softer than anything Geralt’s ever felt for anyone else. Something that’s scared him for a very long time.

Something that doesn’t scare him as much anymore.

Jaskier catches his eye as he plays, and Geralt gives him a slow, indulgent smile. He doesn’t bother to hide the fondness in it.

Jaskier nearly trips. He catches himself and doesn’t miss a beat of the song, but Geralt notices and so do half his brothers, especially because Jaskier’s face lights up like the fucking dawn in response, a beam of a grin that starts in his eyes. Lambert and Eskel laugh. Jaskier glances at them with a flicker of hesitation, but his smile hitches back up when he realizes Geralt’s still watching him.

Fuck.

What a fucking  _ sweetheart. _

And suddenly, it just doesn’t seem that important to do much of anything that’s not in the immediate service of keeping Jaskier happy.

Geralt broke his heart once. He had thought it was the right thing to do, thought he didn’t deserve the kind of trust and affection Jaskier gave him, but he’d never regretted anything so fucking much. 

He’s not going to do that again.

He’s not sure, of course, that his feelings are reciprocated. They fucking  _ shouldn’t  _ be, Jaskier should know better, should spend his short mortal life with someone who can age with him, who isn’t tangled with destiny. 

But he has to know. There’s no fucking point in not knowing. And Jaskier made his choice to come here, anyway.

Perhaps Jaskier notices something in Geralt’s face shift, because it’s fewer songs than usual before he gives a showman’s yawn and says his goodnights. 

“C’mon,” Geralt says to Ciri, standing with a groan. “Let’s get you to bed too.”

“But it’s still  _ early,”  _ she protests, and Geralt’s brothers take her side.

“I’ll get her to bed, Geralt,” Eskel says, shooting him a too-obvious meaningful look. Geralt’s ears flush, and he growls. “You go on.”

“Not too late,” Geralt grunts, and they all made sounds of assent, shooing him away. He ruffles Ciri’s hair on his way out and she squeaks in delight, calling good night after him.

She’s probably part of it. His softening resolve. She’s made him more patient, more receptive.  _ More vulnerable,  _ his training tells him, but she also makes it harder for that to feel like a wholly bad thing.

He was never supposed to have anyone need him. He was never supposed to  _ love. _

And now that his damned heart is open, there’s something very important that it wants.

Geralt takes a deep breath. Before he can stop himself, he finds himself at Jaskier’s open door. He steps inside and closes it.

“Geralt!” Jaskier looks up from the lute in his arms. His face crinkles into that familiar warm grin. It had been hesitant, when he’d first gotten to Kaer Morhen. It’s sure again, now. “To what do I owe this late-night visit? Is there a quest that needs doing in the morning? A rescue, a hunt? Something exciting I can tag along and weave a tale of—Geralt?” 

“I love you.” 

Jaskier drops his lute. 

Thankfully, it’s strapped to him, and falls onto his lap. Geralt can smell his adrenaline racing, can practically hear his heart rabbiting in his chest, but for once, the bard seems lost for words. 

“Didn’t mean to blurt it out. But.” Geralt shifts his weight. The fuck does he usually do with his hands? He swings them at his sides, feeling like an asshole. “Look. I have been a fucking dick to you. You shouldn’t be with me. You shouldn’t even be  _ here.  _ You should find someone nice. In a nice town. And have a nice life, and a nice family, and I should let you do that. I  _ tried,  _ all right? I tried to push you away, and I tried harder when I realized how—how badly I didn’t want you to go.” 

Jaskier sets the lute aside. He opens his mouth, then closes it, several times.

“I missed you,” Geralt says bluntly. A statement of fact, though it comes out sentimental, the words tangling on his tongue. He wants to move, to sit next to him on the bed, to take his stupidly soft, deft hands, but none of that feels right without permission, so he doesn’t. “I was built to be alone. I was destined to care for Ciri. But you? You’re the best choice I couldn’t let myself make.” He looks into Jaskier’s eyes, those wide, shining pools, and doesn’t look away. “I don’t know how to do this. Fucking  _ any  _ of it. Everyone I’ve ever cared about has betrayed me, left me, or  _ died,  _ Jaskier! But I know we’re going to be facing some real shit soon.” He feels a muscle in his jaw clench. “I can’t lose you again. And if I do, well. Had to say it first.” 

Jaskier looks at his lap.

“This is the longest you’ve ever gone without talking,” Geralt frowns. “Er.” Should he leave? Fuck. Yeah, he’s definitely fucked this up. He should definitely leave. Should probably fling himself off the edge of the Continent, really. He reaches for the door.

“Don’t—you— _ dare.” _ Jaskier’s voice is hoarse, each word coming with what sounds like a lot of effort. He looks up through his swoop of hair, and shit, that’s a new smile. That’s a very new smile. Is it bigger somehow? It definitely looks brighter. How could it have gotten fucking brighter? Is it still getting brighter, or is that just because Jaskier’s coming closer? “You asshole,” Jaskier says, beaming. “Took you quite long enough.”

Geralt can’t spend another moment not kissing him, and so he doesn’t.

Jaskier kisses back,  _ hard.  _ Geralt moves to kiss him slow, savoring, but Jaskier seizes him by his shirt and crushes their bodies together. Geralt presses his tongue into Jaskier’s mouth. He tastes like wine and plums and  _ him,  _ the earthy sweet scent Geralt would know at the end of the world, and he makes a low, rough sound that Geralt never wants to stop hearing. Jaskier kisses him and kisses him and keeps making it, his hands going to tangle in Geralt’s hair, his hips rocking against him. 

“So,” Geralt murmurs, when he can pull away. “You feel...the same, then?”

Jaskier looks too fucking good when he’s being kissed. His pink lips are dark and damp, his cheeks flushed. A lock of soft hair has fallen into his eyes. Geralt tucks it back, and Jaskier leans into the touch. It feels almost unbearably tender, and unimaginably  _ right. _

“You knew that,” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt feels a bolt of shame. 

“I’m so sorry—” he starts, but Jaskier rubs a thick thumb over his bottom lip. 

“And I know that.” He presses a chaste kiss to Geralt’s mouth, which is somehow no less intense than the deeper one. “Let’s not waste any more time, all right? Just—just  _ show  _ me.” 

“Every day,” Geralt says swiftly, and Jaskier swallows, hard. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, grinning. “You really mean it.”

“I do.” Geralt feels like an idiot, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. Not when Jaskier’s got one hand on his waist and the other on the line of his jaw, touching him with more reverence and less fear than anyone ever has. And then Jaskier kisses him again, and Geralt’s body flares in a rush of long-buried love and desire. Jaskier’s hands shift to roam slowly over his chest, his shoulders, the small of his back. 

“And now, there are all sorts of love, Geralt, as I’m sure you know. Well, perhaps you don’t, but either way, there are. So does that mean,” Jaskier says, his voice pitched in mild curiosity, “that you  _ want _ me, too?” He moves his body against Geralt’s, unmistakably.

“You knew that,” Geralt says, and Jaskier flashes another grin.

“Oh, thank the  _ fucking  _ gods,” Jaskier groans, flinging his head back in dramatic relief. He grits his teeth, moving his hands with purpose this time, with hunger, and Geralt’s almost heady with how badly he wants to satisfy it. 

“Bed,” he growls. Jaskier’s eyes widen.

“Yes,” he says,  _ “yes,”  _ and stumbles backwards, and then Geralt’s pinning him to it, burying his face at last in the crook of Jaskier’s shoulder. He inhales deeply, bruising kisses into as much of the bard’s throat as he can reach, which isn’t enough. He wrenches his shirt aside. Jaskier’s chest is strong, and covered in dark hair, and Geralt breathes him in. Jaskier rocks up against him, his erection thrillingly obvious through his thin trousers. 

“You have to tell me what you want,” Geralt says, his voice gruff. 

“That would suggest there’s something I don’t.” Jaskier hooks his legs around Geralt’s waist, pulling them meaningfully together. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs warningly in his ear, and Jaskier makes a new sound, a higher one that goes right to Geralt’s dick. After all these years, how many sounds of his are there still yet to learn? “You can’t just—you must have preferences.” He looks Jaskier in the eye, and then can’t help but kiss him again. His eyes are far too startlingly lovely, especially up close, the pools of them that seem to go on and on.

“I don’t  _ know,”  _ Jaskier whines. He rolls their bodies together expertly, one hand firm on Geralt’s hip and the other on the back of his throat. His lack of specificity is definitively not due to inexperience. “I want  _ you, _ Geralt. I’ve spent so long _ —ah!” _ He gasps as Geralt nuzzles into him, his erection throbbing. “Just—just touch me, okay? And let me touch you? I’ll tell you when I like it. When I don’t.”

“Mm,” Geralt agrees. His hand finds the bottom of Jaskier’s shirt. He skims up the soft, strong plane of his warm stomach, and Jaskier arches into the touch.

_ “Oh! _ —oh. And—”

Geralt stops immediately, waiting.

“Hmm?”

Jaskier swallows.

“Tell me—tell me this isn’t the only time? The last time? Tell me you’ll kiss me again?” His eyes are wide. He’s never been this vulnerable before. Always wrapped it in several layers of teasing, deliberate light-heartedness. Always—except once, and Geralt knows how he repaid that instance of vulnerability. Geralt feels a pang of guilt go through him. Of course he doesn’t trust as easily, anymore. That’s Geralt’s fault. But he can’t just selfishly beat himself up over it. Has to  _ show  _ him.

“I love you,” Geralt promises. “I’m not going to stop.” He clears his throat. “I want to give you everything you want.” He says it slowly, haltingly, because  _ he’s  _ never been this vulnerable before either, doesn’t even know how to go about it, but he knows it’s true. He wants to take care of Jaskier the way he has since the moment he met him. He’s always been protective, his love has only grown, and this is part of it. 

“I love you,” Jaskier whispers, and it’s the first time he’s said the words aloud, and something fierce and tender surges in Geralt’s chest. Jaskier bites his lip and smiles, the weight of it sinking into him too. “I love you,” he says again, his hands scattering over Geralt’s body, “I love you, I love you,  _ fuck,  _ I’ve—” He takes a deep, steadying breath, and shakes his head against the pillow. Traces the angle of Geralt’s jaw with his fingertip. “I’ve loved you like a ghost story for so long. Haunted, and secret, and terrifying. Never thought I’d get to share it. Never thought I’d get to live it.”

“I want to give you everything you want,” Geralt repeats, and kisses him deeply. Jaskier moans into it,  _ smiles  _ into it, and Geralt’s nearly dizzy with love. 

He pauses.

“But if you write a song about my dick, I’m throwing you off a cliff.”

Jaskier’s eyes sparkle and he laughs, his good, relaxed laugh that always feels more like home than anything else ever has.

“Oh, I am  _ so  _ writing a song about your dick,” he grins. He bites his lip again, rocking his own against Geralt’s hip. 

“You gonna take it first, or just make shit up like you always do?” Geralt lets his hand pet Jaskier’s body as he speaks, drifting down his chest, his stomach, his thighs.

Jaskier groans. His head tilts back, and he’s not laughing anymore. 

“Fuck— _ please—” _

“Mm. Thought so.”

Sex had always been a means to an end, for Geralt. He figures out how to most efficiently bring the other person pleasure, then seeks his. He walks away less distracted. That’s it. He’s had some excellent, satisfying sex, but this feels  _ completely  _ new. This is Jaskier, and efficiency is the last thing on his mind. He wants to savor. He wants to  _ learn.  _

Geralt watches, one hand in that soft, chestnut hair, as his other palms over the bulge in Jaskier’s trousers. He hears a rumble of interest as Jaskier’s cock hardens beneath his touch, registering faintly that it comes from his own mouth. Jaskier’s eyes flutter as if they want to close, but the bard won’t let them, watching Geralt through those long lashes instead. Geralt caresses him through the cloth. He lets his heightened senses scent Jaskier’s intensifying lust, tune to the hitches in his breath, taste desire on his skin. 

_ “Geralt.” _

“Hmm,” Geralt murmurs. “I know that tone.” He chuckles, nuzzling Jaskier’s throat, squeezing his cock a bit harder, reveling in the rush of want sloughing from the bard as he does. “That’s that  _ demanding, _ near- _ petulant  _ timbre of your voice. The one that means you want something from me.” Geralt grins. Slips his hand beneath Jaskier’s trousers, strokes him through the remaining layer of his smallclothes. Jaskier swears colorfully, his voice breaking as he does. “Need something from me.  _ Now.” _

_ “Geralt,”  _ but there’s no irritation or discomfort in it, just that same needful tone, edged with something like awe. 

“You’re lucky it’s far too fucking intoxicating to hear it in this context to tease.”

Geralt strips off his own shirt and trousers and all of Jaskier’s clothes in a rush. He allows himself just a moment to take in the expanse of Jaskier’s bare body, the sturdy reality of it, the soft tapestry of want, laid out here for him. Not a stolen glance as he changes by the fire, not bearing a wound to clean, not crashing into him as he flees some married woman’s bedchambers. Here, in all its scars and hair, bulges and edges, for Geralt to savor, and to love. 

“You’re very fucking handsome, do you know that?” Geralt says, spreading Jaskier’s thighs, settling between them. “Put me through hell, resisting.”

“Handsome? You’re one to talk,” Jaskier protests, but Geralt shakes his head. 

“Not like you.” He’s never before wanted to learn, to memorize, to worship a person’s desires like this. He lets his fingers map the scars on Jaskier’s throat, the contours of muscle, the soft down on his stomach. He feels Jaskier’s pulse jump beneath his touch, watches his arousal throb, his hands clench and unclench in the waiting. “You’ve always been a work of art, except you’re your own artist. I love how you make yourself, how you  _ choose  _ yourself, how you unbuttoned the stuffy collars you were born into, decked yourself out in color and frill and joy.” Geralt gives a disbelieving little chuckle. “Nothing had ever felt more off-limits in my life.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes, understanding and want mingling in his voice. “Oh, Geralt,  _ fuck,  _ I had no idea.”

“I know.” Geralt lowers his head. “You will.”

Jaskier cries out at the first pass of Geralt’s tongue, a breathy singer-sound, high and sweet. Geralt spreads his cheeks and kisses his hole open-mouthed, moaning into the furrowed clench of it. He settles on his belly and folds Jaskier’s thighs nearly to his chest.

“Hold,” he grunts, and Jaskier scrambles to obey for once, clutching his knees back and apart, spreading himself. 

Geralt licks him hard and slow. He circles Jaskier’s entrance with the muscle of his tongue, kneading his cheeks as he does. He firms his tongue, works it inside, and Jaskier swears, rocking up against him instantly, as Geralt fucks him with his mouth.

“Oh,” he keens, breathy and delighted, “oh fuck,  _ fuck,  _ that’s good, yes, yes— _ ah!” _

Geralt tries not to feel too proud. He pushes his tongue in as deep as it goes, licking up into Jaskier’s tight, smooth passage. He reaches to take Jaskier’s cock in his hand, pleased to find it stone-hard and dripping. He strokes it lightly, and Jaskier clenches on his tongue. His own spit drips down his chin and he pulls back just to nudge it back inside Jaskier with his tongue, opening him, getting him slick. He watches Jaskier contract for him, and flashes his love a smirk before diving back down to suck gently at his rim. He only gets a few good moments in before Jaskier’s tugging on his hair.

“Get up here,” Jaskier says hoarsely, “ _ right  _ now.” 

Geralt rises somewhat regretfully. He can’t help but lick one last long stripe up from Jaskier’s hole to his balls, and Jaskier yelps, his erection twitching. 

“You’re  _ good _ at that.” Jaskier looks fucking spectacular. His pupils blown, his hair a mess, precome pooled on his belly. He smells like sex, and love, and Geralt. 

“Wanted to suck your cock.”

Jaskier groans, tugging Geralt up the bed.

“And while that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says between kisses, “not to mention what I’ve been literally dreaming about for years, I definitely will not last if you do that right now. And I want you to fuck me.” 

Geralt grins, his palm already between Jaskier’s legs again, toying with the place his mouth left wet.

“Gonna suck you off, though. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Fuck,  _ definitely _ tomorrow, would you just  _ please—” _

“You taste good.”

At that, Jaskier gives a full-body shiver, melting in Geralt’s arms.

“Geralt,” he says, and it would be half-scandalized if it wasn’t that same wanting tone reserved just for him. “Wh-what do I—”

“Like you.” Geralt hums, considering, as he strokes Jaskier’s hole almost lazily. “Like soap, and sweat, and those herbs you put in your bath. Like lute-wood, and the fireplace.” He grins again, can tell there’s something wolfish in this one. “And,” he murmurs, pressing just the tip of his finger inside, “like me.” 

Jaskier moans fucking  _ wantonly,  _ bearing down, pulling Geralt into a brief, bruising kiss before scrambling in his bag by the bed. He pulls out a pot of oil, and Geralt growls in anticipation, getting his fingers slick. 

“Come here.” He lays on his side, pillows Jaskier’s head on one forearm and spreads his thighs for him. 

Something’s shifted in the air now, this kiss hungrier, but simmering too, the awareness that it’s building to something heavy between them. 

“I want you,” Jaskier breathes, and Geralt answers.

Jaskier’s jaw drops as Geralt presses his thick index finger in to the second knuckle. He clenches, his open mouth turning up at the corners into a filthy smile, and all of Geralt senses tell him Jaskier’s fucking  _ loving  _ it. He starts to thrust, fucking Jaskier on his finger, and Jaskier’s body keeps pulling him in, urging him deeper, opening for him. It’s so fucking intimate Geralt almost feels like he’s the one being penetrated, his own neglected cock feverishly hard in his smallclothes. 

“More,” Jaskier says, pulling his thighs back again as Geralt dips his fingers into the pot of oil. He lets out a choked sound, still beaming, open-mouthed, as Geralt starts to spread his fingers inside him, work him open even harder. Jaskier looks at him, and Geralt inhales sharply. 

“Too fucking pretty,” he murmurs, and kisses him.

“You’re so _gentle,”_ Jaskier whispers. Geralt frowns. He can understand it’s not like Jaskier would be wrong to make the assumption that perhaps he wouldn’t be, but it makes him sorry anyway—but Jaskier shakes his head. “No—it’s not that I thought you’d hurt me. I never thought that. Not like this.” Geralt keeps moving inside him, carefully deepening his thrusts. Jaskier brings a trembling hand to run through Geralt’s hair. “It’s just that. No one’s ever been _this_ gentle with me.” He arches his back. “And nothing has ever felt this good.” 

A rush of pride and the desire to kill every person who touched Jaskier without the appropriate care wars within Geralt’s chest. Jaskier bites his lip, bearing down.

“Don’t get all murder-y and distant on me. I’m done with that. Now that I’ve got you.” He smiles, and Geralt can  _ smell  _ how safe he feels, how much he wants this, and his pride, as well as the need to keep Jaskier feeling exactly this safe and content, drown out the rage.

“Yes,” Geralt says. He pushes deep, presses up, and hits the spot he’d been hoping to. Jaskier cries out, arching, and Geralt’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life. “You are.”

Jaskier’s panting now, his chest heaving. He reaches for his dripping cock, and Geralt’s immediate impulse is to stop him, to be the  _ only  _ thing bringing Jaskier pleasure, but he buries it. Tells himself to stop being selfish. This is for Jaskier. 

He’s glad he thought better of it, because Jaskier looks even more beautiful than before, jerking himself off, the muscles in his arm and abdomen working as Geralt fucks his fingers into him.

“Another,” Jaskier manages, and Geralt grins. It’s almost impossible to fit three, but Geralt knows his own cock is thicker than that. It’s for the best. Jaskier gasps, working his cock quicker now. Geralt watches, memorizing the tightness of his grasp, the speed he likes best, how he stops on occasion to squeeze the head, rub his slick slit. That information will come in very useful. “Geralt,” Jaskier says again, and it’s that same tone, even more raw with wanting now. Geralt kisses him.

“Ready for me?”

_ “Yes. _ You haven’t even  _ shown _ it to me yet,” Jaskier pouts.

Geralt chuckles. He eases his fingers out, and pulls off the last of his clothes.

Jaskier’s eyes go wide, his jaw dropping again. 

“Oh, that is bigger than I imagined. I mean I’ve seen it before, but not  _ hard,  _ not like  _ that— _ fucking Melitele, no wonder you can’t keep anyone off you.” 

Geralt grins, stroking a liberal amount of oil onto it. 

“All yours now.”

He meets Jaskier’s gaze and watches closely, intensely, as he guides the head inside. 

“Ohh,  _ fuck.  _ Come on, give it to me,” Jaskier says. He digs his heels in the small of Geralt’s back, inviting him deeper. “I’m not going to break.” 

“Hmm.” It feels fucking exquisite. Jaskier is tight and slick and greedy around him, clenching and welcoming at once, but Geralt’s not going to be anything but the gentlest he’s _ever_ been. Doesn’t mean he’s not going to fuck him good, though. He bends to kiss Jaskier’s mouth, sheathing himself fully as he does. “Patience.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, but then Geralt thrusts for the first time, slow and hard, pulling halfway out and then bringing his thighs hot against Jaskier’s ass. They both gasp. Geralt moves again, pulling back until just the crown of his cock is trapped in Jaskier’s tight hole, then opening him inch by inch. Jaskier’s head rolls back, his own erection hard and dripping between them. 

“I was wrong,” he says weakly, his voice rough with pleasure. “Nothing has ever felt  _ this  _ good.”

“Good,” Geralt murmurs, and starts to fuck him in earnest. He moves in steady, long, deliberate strokes, and Jaskier’s face is an expression of fierce, feverish pleasure, jaw slack, eyes half-shut, his hands greedy in Geralt’s hair. He rocks up to meet Geralt’s thrusts and they fall into a natural rhythm, and Geralt thinks wildly that no, truly, nothing he’s ever done in his life has ever, ever felt this good. 

Jaskier groans as he opens further, angling his hips so Geralt can thrust easier and just where he needs it. His passage is slick and stretching and wanting. His face spreads into that filthy, sex-soaked, open-mouth smile again, and Geralt’s senses are overwhelmed in the best way with his own desire and Jaskier’s, a heady blend of intoxicating love and racorous bliss. 

They quicken their pace together, Jaskier’s body asking for it and Geralt answering, and they become a blur of sweat-slick skin, a tightly coiled pull toward pleasure, each of them swallowing each other’s sharp, sweet sounds, their bodies moving together, quickening together, in brilliant, beautiful harmony.

_ What a fucking sweetheart _ , Geralt thinks again through the haze, except then Jaskier makes a strangled, specific sort of sound, clutching him tighter, and he realizes he said it aloud, murmured it into Jaskier’s mouth. 

_ “Fuck.”  _ Jaskier hitches his thighs back further and  _ sobs  _ as Geralt sinks deeper into him. “Fuck, I would want you to take me from behind, but I don’t want to stop looking at you—”

Geralt growls, and kisses him. 

“I’ll find a mirror tomorrow.”

Jaskier laughs wildly, a bright, rough sound that slips into a groan.

“I know,” Geralt says, “This feels…”

“Mind-blowing? Fucking fantastic? Utterly addictive, because it is, I’m not going to be able to get enough. I hope you know you’ve found my new obsession, I’m never, ever going to stop asking you to fuck me just like this, Geralt—”

“Hmm. Well, yes.” Geralt kisses him again, and Jaskier pants into his mouth. “But also, it feels  _ right.  _ I didn’t know it would feel this right.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “That.  _ Yeah. _ ” Geralt grinds in deep again, rolling his hips, massaging his cockhead against that spot inside Jaskier, and then all the bard can do in response is nod, gasping. His erection throbs between them, and Jaskier sobs, jerking his hips mindlessly to try and get friction against Geralt’s stomach. “Geralt…”

There’s that tone of voice again, and Jaskier using it like  _ this  _ makes Geralt nearly come right there.

“What do you need?”

“Touch me?”

Geralt moves in for one more bruising kiss, which pushes him in so deep he can  _ feel  _ Jaskier’s cock twitch, and then leans back just far enough to keep fucking him where he needs it and make room for his own hand to wrap around Jaskier.

Fuck.

Jaskier feels too fucking good. His cock is thick, and soaked in its own precome. It’s solid and real and vulnerable and beautiful in Geralt’s palm. Jaskier’s clenching so tight around him and Geralt gets a new angle of his fucked-out expression intensifying as he jerks him off, and suddenly it’s too much, it’s too overwhelming, Geralt’s never lost control like this before, but he’s hurtling to the brink, hips stuttering—

Jaskier grins, and squeezes his thighs.

“Oh,  _ yeah.  _ Oh fuck, Geralt, that’s it. Come for me. Come inside me, d’you know how badly I’ve wanted to feel you like that?”

Geralt frowns, fighting to hold back, trying to keep his pace steady.

“But—I want  _ you  _ to—”

“I know you’ll see to me.” Jaskier smiles at him, and bears down. “Come on, my love, fill me up.”

It is definitely the fucking pet name that does it. 

The ease with which Jaskier says it, the tenderness in his face as he does, the fact that—that song coming back to Geralt, even in the careening spiral of pleasure that he’s become, spurred by the not-unfamiliar sound of those words on Jaskier’s voice—that Jaskier has, perhaps, called him  _ my love  _ before, has been calling him that a very long time—

Geralt comes with a shout, hard and rough, thrusting helplessly through it, and Jaskier makes the greediest sounds of encouragement as he does. He lets go of Jaskier’s cock and lets Jaskier pull him into another kiss, spilling into him, filling him deep. The pleasure is a whole-body thing, shivering and shuddering through him, encompassing bliss coupled with Jaskier’s welcoming embrace, a sparkling, powerful true release. 

He pulls out carefully and Jaskier moans, low and lovely in his ear. 

“Oh, that’s  _ good.”  _ He wriggles his hips, feeling Geralt’s hot come drip from him. 

Geralt grunts, allowing himself just one breath before seizing Jaskier by the hips and flipping the two of them in one movement, so he’s seated with his back against the headboard, Jaskier straddling his lap.

“Oh,  _ fuck,  _ Geralt, I— _ ahh!”  _ Jaskier collapses against him, bracing his hands on the headboard, as Geralt swiftly works three fingers into his come-soaked hole. He wraps his other hand around Jaskier’s dick and starts to fuck him and jerk him in earnest, and Jaskier moves with him, riding his fingers hard, thrusting into his hand. His breath is hot on Geralt’s mouth, his soft hair clumped with sweat and tumbling into his face.

“That’s it, there you go,” Geralt murmurs, curling his fingers. He moves his other hand in the closest approximation of how he’d watched Jaskier touch himself earlier, and Jaskier gasps. “You’re doing so well. You like when I fill you up?”

“Yes,” Jaskier whispers. He wrinkles his nose too fucking cutely and clenches around Geralt’s hand, and Geralt can tell he’s close. “Yes,  _ yes.” _

“And you like it when I put my fingers inside you? When I fuck you like this? I like it. I like being inside you, however you’ll have me.” Geralt may have come already, but he still feels strung out, ecstatic, enmeshed in pleasure as he’s holding Jaskier like this, and the words pour out of him. He tilts his head forward, so his forehead rests on Jaskier’s. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you so fucking much.”

Jaskier goes silent, save for his punched-out breaths as he rocks against Geralt’s hands, and Geralt watches him wide-eyed and wondrous. 

And then Jaskier  _ wails,  _ burying his face in the crook of Geralt’s shoulder and  _ writhing _ as he bears down and comes and comes and comes. Geralt strokes him through it, rubs inside him through it, as Jaskier’s cock spills over his hand and the smell of his come fills the air. 

Jaskier sags against him at last. Geralt slowly releases him, slides his fingers from him, and Jaskier sinks into his embrace. 

Geralt thinks they’ll get up to wash off soon, but then Jaskier pulls him to lay down beside him on the bed instead, and well, they can bathe in the morning. His brothers will notice his own bed isn’t slept in, but fuck, if he’s not going to get enough teasing as is. Thankfully the kitchen’s far enough away that Ciri wouldn’t have heard them, but witcher hearing? Geralt shudders to think about it, though he also discovers he doesn’t really mind, not with Jaskier nuzzled into his chest. 

The heat of the sex dissolves around them, leaving behind a comfortable quiet, and a new world opened between them. Through it though, Geralt feels Jaskier tense, and he knows immediately that a hint of doubt is pressing in, that Jaskier wonders if despite his promises it was a dream, if that’s all he’ll get—

“Hey.” Geralt takes him by the shoulders, looks him in the eye. He sees the edge of fear there, but the love too, the daze, the hope. The doubt will pass, but it will take time. “I love you,” he says again. He cups Jaskier’s cheek in his palm and he feels Jaskier relax, the doubt and fear ebbing away, adoration and satisfaction blossoming to take their place. “I love you, and I’m not going to stop. I know I have to prove it to you, to regain your trust. But I intend to. And I  _ will. _ ” He shakes his head. “I have never been so sure about anything in my life.”

Jaskier exhales in relief, softening into a smile. He cuddles close again, paying no mind to the significant mess they’ve both made, and Geralt holds him with sure hands. 

“I know,” Jaskier says, and Geralt can tell he means it. “I love you too.” He gives a disbelieving laugh into Geralt’s chest. “It’s actually happening. Not a ghost story anymore. Just...just a  _ story  _ story. And we get to tell it.” He sighs, deeply content, and squeezes Geralt tight. Geralt feels rather like he’s floating, and also like he’s more grounded than he’s ever been in his life. “That was fucking amazing, by the way.”

“Yeah,” Geralt can’t help but say, petting his hair. “You are.”

Jaskier groans, and Geralt chuckles. He can feel Jaskier’s joy, just joy now, joy and love and trust and peace, mingling with his own, filling the room like a song. 

And that feels very right indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve only seen the show, and I’m super late to this, but these two have been a balm for me in the midst of *gestures at everything again.* you have been such a welcoming fandom. thank you so much for your support and encouragement, it means a lot!! I hope you enjoyed this one <3 there's...probably fics more to come from me, haha.
> 
> edit: you can now find me on tumblr @ [welcomemysentence](https://welcomemysentence.tumblr.com/)


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